


Take the Reins

by KingsAndThieves (TehLotteh)



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Animal Death, Death cw in the first section, F/M, Gabriel Agreste owns a racing stables, Minor Character Death, Tikki and Plagg are horses, any death after refers to pets of natural causes, euthanasia mention, horse racing AU, so it's possible to skip over without much issue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 07:11:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6070003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TehLotteh/pseuds/KingsAndThieves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years ago, Adrien lost his mother in a horse racing incident, witnessing it first hand as a fellow jockey in the race. Marinette, working at the Agreste racing stables, swears blind that she hasn't seen him sit on a horse since. </p><p>Convinced that he's lost his nerve, she's determined to help him get back in the saddle, and is sure that her ponies are perfect for the job. Still, her nerves about inviting her crush to see her two little terrors are making things a little difficult, especially when he seems intent on hiding his fears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take the Reins

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to keep the horse terminology simple or explain it, but if there's anything that wasn't clear please let me know and I'll stick some explanations in the notes.
> 
> I would just like to point out that most of the horsey stuff comes from my own experiences working in the stables that I worked out. We were not a racing stables, and from my experience at the ones I visited every place works differently. In other words, no promises that this will correlate with your own practices or experiences, but that's part of the fun, no?
> 
> And finally, a quick word on my own opinion of horse racing. I don't agree with how harsh a world it can be, but I am not fully against it. Doing research for inspiration for this, I hadn't realised how dangerous it can be in America, and I have to admit it disgusts me. My own personal experiences are that the horses I've worked with love to run and race with each other, and if proper safety precautions are taken, it shouldn't be a problem at all. As per everything, it's the ones who take it too far that cause the issues.
> 
> All seriousness aside, please enjoy! (In my usual fashion I've only proof-read it once but I'll amend things in the future if needed)
> 
> Also, please check out this amazing fanart by Wondernerd. She captured the opening scene perfectly <3 http://wondernerdart.tumblr.com/post/143084203446/i-get-emotional-over-horse-aus-give-me-all-of

 

_The thrill of the wind in his face and the distant thud of the hooves below him churning up turf were like a rush of ecstasy to him. Crouched low to his beast's body, the two working as one, it was a sensation with no comparison. He'd heard a horse or two fall at the hurdle just gone, but there was no place in his thoughts to worry on that. Worrying was for after the race. Concentration and focus was for the race itself._

_And what a race it was. They were edging on little by little, and even though he knew they wouldn't be able to stretch ahead to take the winning position, just this recovery was enough. They had done better than the odds, and he'd managed to show that with the correct coercion this ageing gelding still had some fight left in him._

_They fell into stride with the horse and jockey on the rail, the off rhythm ga_ _it_ _taking his pulse by the hand and leading it in a majestic dance, rising and rising as he pushed on, crouched lower, urging_ Papillon _just to give that little extra that he knew the horse still had._

_As they crossed the line just narrowly missing out on third he sat up a little, letting the gelding wind his pace down in his own time and to catch his breath back, looking forward to giving them both a nice cool down, he glanced up to see where his father normally stood right at the rail to watch. Not finding him in his usual position he brushed it off, flicking his gaze to the big screen where the racers' names were written for all those who couldn't see the numbers on the numnahs to note down how lucky or unlucky their betting had been. The winner had been running at 3:2, so although it wouldn't be a large payout, it would be enough._

_He frowned a little, fingers running through the matted fur on_ Papillon _'s neck, as he noticed that_ Miraculous Mischief _had not come over the line yet, even though he saw no racers left on the track. One of the horses that had tripped and thrown its rider was dancing around in an attempt to avoid his handlers, but he definitely couldn't see his mother's grey around anywhere._

_A flash on the screen caught his eye as the image changed from a zoomed in shot on the finished riders, specifically the winner, to pan over to the other side of the track where paramedics and vets alike were rushing to a flailing grey mare, the poor creature struggling to stand and seeming unable to get her back legs to work._

_**Her back's out**_ _, his unhelpful mind supplied, and he felt his gut wrench in distress at that._ Miraculous Mischief _was his mother's pride and joy, the first horse she and his father had trained together, and even though she had been a retired jockey since before he was born, when it came to that mare she just couldn't resist getting back in the saddle. This would break both of their hearts, for if they managed to sedate her enough to check her over, and even in the unlikely event that they managed to get her back back into shape and support it well enough, she was going to be in considerable pain, not to mention that her entire racing career was over. He had a feeling this was going to have to be an on the spot euthanasia and he shuddered, turning his head away. It was best to get the horses away from the scene, knowing that it would only scare them, and not wanting them to go under any undue stress. They'd know when it happened, anyway._

_They always did._

_He dismounted as one of his father's grooms came over to take_ Papillon _for him, knowing that the team would give the horse all the care and fuss he deserved, and made a mental reminder to come and sneak him some treats after his father had done the evening checks. He slid the goggles to rest loosely round his neck and slipped his hat off, shaking the helmet hair out and cringing a little at the sweaty feel of it clinging to his face, and on a whim turned away from the jockey's quarters to head back towards the track. He didn't want to see it, but he wanted to say his potential goodbyes to the mare, and also to offer some form of comfort to his parents._

 _Stepping back over by the crowd, however, he was concerned by the morose atmosphere, people hushing and muttering among each other._ _Without sounding heartless, he was a little surprised. Horse deaths were never pleasant, but the two he'd witnessed before had never elicited this sort of sombre cloud over a crowd before._

_“...such a pretty, talented thing...”_

_“...wish they'd hurry with the_ _screen...they deserve privacy..”_

_“...does the boy know..?”_

_“...there he is...he doesn't know, does he...”_

_There was something about being spoken in that way that he couldn't help but feel unsettled, and he turned his head to look over towards where he had see the downed mare. There was a blue tent around her, both to calm her and, supposedly, for the privacy to put her down. It was always kinder on the public that way – let them believe it was quick and painless. That wasn't to say it wasn't, just that sometimes it took a little longer than others, or the horse put up too much of a fight. Details that the general public would be better off spared._

_It was a movement a couple of yards further back on the track that caught his eye, and before he knew it his hat was on the floor and he was slipping under the railing, sprinting halfway round the track as fast as his exhausted legs could carry him but it was never enough, it wasn't fast enough, and the sight of his father crumpled over, tenderly resting his wife's limp head in his lap would follow him to his grave._

 

* * *

 

“Marinette! Oi, sleepy-head, we've still got another fifteen boxes to clean before Mr Agreste does his usual routine check!”

The dark-haired girl squeaked loudly as a dandy brush bounced off the back of her head, spinning round to face the less than impressed face of her best friend and fellow poop-scoop. She picked the offending brush up and idly dusted off the shavings that clung to the bristles and sighed, looking back out the main door of the barn with a dreamy look.

“But he's here, Alya. Just _look_ at him. He's even more gorgeous in real life..”

“Yes, yes, Mister I-fell-from-heaven-and-somehow-avoided-the-copious-amount-of-horse-shite is super dreamy and all, but unless you get your act together girl, his father will fire you, and then what will you do?”

That seemed to snap the dazed girl from her infatuation-induced stupor with another squeak, this one thankfully a bit quieter, before she darted to grab the wheelbarrow and shovel that she had left beside one of the boxes in order to power through the final quarter of the barn. She had never been so grateful that it was summer, meaning that the majority of the horses were out to pasture during the daytime, which in turn meant that their jobs became infinitely easier. There was nothing worse than trying to balance a precariously overfilled shovel over to a barrow with an overly excited stallion doing everything in his power to stick his nose in and exhale as hard as possible.

Then again, Tikki could be a little diva when she wanted to. On more than one occasion she had just tipped the barrow straight over, and on one in particular she had timed it to splatter all over Marinette's father who had just been on the way to see if she wanted a hot chocolate bringing out. It was a good thing her parents loved the ponies so much, it really was. She had disapproved of her father punishing her by slipping a carrot into her food bowl that evening, though.

The two girls slipped back into an easy routine of scooping, shaking, beds up, beds down, clean that water trough, “this horse isn't too fussy, I'm sure he won't notice if I just put the hay from the floor back in again”, “how did it get that mess _up there_?!” and were on their last boxes each when Marinette's concentration took a giant tumble.

Adrien Agreste, although having been retired from the racing scene just two years ago, coinciding with the sudden death of his mother, had made his mark elsewhere in the equestrian market. His boyish good looks and tragic back-story had made him a heart throb for riders everywhere, and he could often be seen in magazines sporting the latest jacket with a dog at his heel ( _or a bitch on his arm_ , Alya would say whenever they spotted the rich and spoiled Chloé Bourgeois modelling with him).

Few riders made it out of D grade racing at the age of 16. Fewer still retired from class A racing at 16 and a half.

He had been a fantastic jockey. A trainee, an amateur, yes, but he had been in the saddle almost before he could walk. She'd read so many interviews about him and listened to so many radio programs and talk shows that she had little trouble holding a conversation with him.. At least in her head.

In person was a different thing entirely.

She waved awkwardly as he made his way down to their end of the barn, Alya's greeting a little less enthusiastic but considerably more coherent. He raised a hand in turn, glancing in to the individual boxes as if searching for something before sighing a little, digging his hands into his jacket pockets. Marinette couldn't help but notice that the lovely dark green gilet, the one he had modelled in the August edition of the UK's main equine magazine _Horse and Hound_ (and wasn't that fun getting her hands on a copy) _,_ brought out the darker shades in his eyes wonderfully. His eyes were almost unnaturally bright most of the time, but around the edges there was a beautifully dark ripple that on anyone else would come out as hazel. He wore his usual beige jodhpurs and knee high riding boots, but she'd yet to see him ride while up here. And she worked six days a week, so unless he just always rode on the one day she had off, he hadn't been on a horse since the accident.

She'd come to this realisation in the early hours of February 18th that year, sitting up bolt upright with the sudden conclusion that maybe, just maybe, he was terrified to get back in the saddle.

Reports all stated (and straight from the horse's mouth, no less), that it was his father's decision to stop him racing any more. The thought of losing his son in the same sport that took his wife's life was too much for him, and Adrien had been inclined to agree.

 _“I couldn't leave him all alone,”_ he had said in one interview. “ _Jockeys fall all the time. All it takes is one wrong landing.”_

“Are you looking for something, sir?” Alya asked politely, using the voice that clearly stated that she remembered who was the blood relative of the man who paid her here. He made a non-committal noise and shook his head, smiling warmly at them as he leaned casually on the door of the box that Marinette was stood in. She really prayed that he didn't notice the way she locked up even tighter than usual, hoping he would blame her blush on the natural flush that came from physical exertion during the warmer months and not that her heart was doing double time when faced with such a gorgeous, kind-hearted man.

“No, no,” he spoke quickly, offering them that easy smile once more that made Marinette weak at the knees. She hugged the shovel to her in an attempt to look nonchalant as she let it bear most of her weight, resting her cheek against the top of it with a dazed sigh. “I was actually just wondering if Papillon was in or out right now, but I guess he's out.”

“Marinette can fetch him in for you,” Alya suggested, flashing her friend a devious smile who in turn opened her mouth in an attempt to protest and offer herself in the same moment, the result being merely an impression of a fish on land as she tried to speak without sound. Adrien was quick to wave a slight hand, shaking his head.

“It's all right, thank you, really. I don't mind getting my hands dirty – I haven't been up in a while and I do miss spending time with the animals. Although,” he paused, thinking a moment and glancing to the two stable-hands, “I wouldn't turn down a hand if you can offer it. Would you be able to meet me in the corral once you've done with your work here?”

Marinette nodded enthusiastically and he thanked them warmly, stepping back out the barn, and Alya could have sworn she heard her friend squeal once the coast was clear. As rare as it was to see Adrien Agreste around the stables, it was rarer still for him to ask for assistance doing anything. And now, Marinette had a once in a blue moon opportunity to spend time with him.

“Alya, quick, pinch me,” she whispered giddily, Alya laughing as she slipped into the box with her and patted her on the back.

“Girl, go on, I'll sort the feeds out for you while you deal with your knight, and then we can sort the nets out together before we go home?”

Marinette squealed and dropped her shovel, whirling to tackle her friend in a tight hug. “You're the best, you really are!”

“Of course I am, now go on you doofus!”

 

She didn't have long to wait out in the yard before she heard the soft and rhythmic beat of an approaching horse, hooves finding easy purchase on the gravel path that they used to keep them out of the mud on the walk between buildings, accompanied by the much duller thud of a pair of what she estimated to be either a size 44 or 45 boots, pristine as always. Papillon, the gorgeous dark bay thoroughbred that had been the last horse he ever raced, was certainly looking in peak condition. He was an elderly ex-racer, although still young by any other standards, but Adrien had begged his father to be allowed to keep him in the yard rather than sell him on. He was the perfect companion horse, friendly and easy to please, and was perfect for working alongside young colts and fillies that were still a hint too green to train on their own.

Adrien caught sight of Marinette waiting for him and raised a hand with a small smile, giving a gentle nudge with the lead rope to direct Papillon over to the bar so that he could tie him up.

The corral that they used was just a large, sanded arena, water troughs spaced out with holding bars over them so that every horse tied up could have access to food and drink while being attended to (and Marinette had made sure to bring a hay net with her, already tied up and waiting). Half of the corral was sheltered by a large, overhanging roof, while the other half was left open so that they could enjoy the sun. As it was pleasantly warm, but not hot enough for them to need to worry about attracting horse flies, they settled in the latter half of the arena, the gelding quick to stick his nose into his hay.

“I think the retired life suits him,” Adrien spoke fondly, running a hand along the horse's neck. His coat had thickened out and was softer than during his racing days, although clumps of dirt clung to him in patches. Marinette quite liked the look, thinking that he looked more like a well loved pet than a money-making machine. She understood the need for appearances, but horses were horses and it was unnatural for them to look pristine all the time.

“He certainly enjoys his time off,” she agreed, smiling warmly as she clasped her hands behind her back. It was with affection that she noticed the younger Agreste's fingers trail over his horse's body, subconsciously checking for bites or scratches or any abnormalities, and she bet that by now it was such second nature that he didn't even realise he was doing it. She knew that she was the exact same with her ponies, teasing out knots and tangles with her fingers while holding a full discussion with her parents.

Without being asked to she stepped over to the shelves at the far wall, bringing over the set of brushes that they used for the bay horses, making sure that it was the nicer and cleaner of the two boxes as well. Although not so important when dealing with their majority, being mostly in varying shades of brown, it was the three greys that made it really imperative to have segregated brushes. When they moulted, it went absolutely everywhere. Funny part of it was that it was always the grey hairs that refused to come off anything and everything. She'd found a number in her coffee back in her house, and neither of her horses were even that light! (Admittedly Tikki with a tri-colour, a lovely brown and white splodged thing, but she knew for a fact that the hair she nearly choked on did not come from her little angel).

Adrien thanked her as she placed the box down and grabbed a dandy brush before setting to work on Papillon's body, gesturing for her to join in. Hesitantly picking up a mane and tail comb she moved to stand beside the horse's flanks, taking his tail in hand to gently tease the long strands apart without risking pulling them or startling him. They worked in comfortable silence for some time, just the sound of the birds in the trees or Papillon snuffling as he ate, and Marinette had to thank her lucky stars for this opportunity. Normally working alongside either of the two Agrestes felt forced, awkward, like she had to remain professional all the time. As she worked with Adrien, however, she found herself starting to relax a little. It left her time to study him, see him outside of his own professional atmosphere, and it saddened her a little.

Although he moved with comfort and ease around his horse, there was something in his eyes that seemed off. A sadness, a hesitation, almost like he was at war with himself over something. Sometimes he kept brushing the same patch without really noticing, his gaze distant, and she found herself sliding her comb through a silky smooth set of hair as her own thoughts distracted her.

This was what she loved about living the horsey life. Yes, it was hard work. It was expensive, it was smelly, but the sense of peace that came with it was worth it all. It was nice to see that he could still enjoy that side of it, even if he had stepped away from it as a career. Still, she imagined that he got to spend more time with the horses like this now that he wasn't having to train solidly.

He also suited a bit more weight on him, she had to say. He was still slender, very slender, but he looked better with a little meat on his bones now that he didn't have to remain as light as possible for his racing.

“Mr Agreste is allowing Alya and I to take a couple of horses for some laps this evening,” she found herself saying absently before her mind could begin to comprehend what she was saying. “Will you be joining us?”

His sudden tension in his shoulders didn't go unnoticed, and she slowly felt her brain catch up with her mouth. Alya would be so proud, she managed to say a full sentence without stumbling _and_ it was almost like asking him on a date.

Almost.

Okay, it was nothing like asking him on a date but it was still asking him to do something with her, and she couldn't help the sudden desire to backtrack.

“I-I mean just that Papillon would probably like to run with you a-again and I-I, um, that is.. Track's free?” She was quick to hide her rapidly reddening face the other side of the horse's large stature, mentally kicking herself repeatedly as she caught sight of his feet shuffling a little the other side. Oh god, she'd made him uncomfortable, they were in such a comfortable silence and she'd gone and ruined it with her big stupid mouth. The one time she hadn't been actively fantasising about him and she managed to dig herself a hole. Foot, meet mouth.

The silence dragged on for some long seconds, almost passing into minutes, and Marinette found herself wishing with fervour that the floor would just swallow her up. After what felt like an age she heard him drop the brush back into the box, followed by some rummaging, and finally the sound of him crouching down beside the creature's front leg. She knew that standard health and safety practice was to always remain on your feet but he didn't seem to care, knowing the horse well enough to not deem it a problem. One knee was getting rapidly dusty as he clicked his tongue, asking for his foot to be picked up, and was soon digging the metal point of the pick into the underside of his hoof.

Marinette wrung her hands a little nervously, eventually working the courage up to go round and drop the comb back in the box herself, and started to flounder as she tried to work out whether or not she would be best to awkwardly excuse herself. As if reading her mind, he let out another soft sigh, the kind that hinted that words would follow once he knew what it was he wanted to express.

“Hey, Marinette.. Do you mind if I ask you something?”

He sounded so.. Solemn and forlorn. She couldn't help her quick response, a little incoherent noise to let him know that she was listening.

“You have a horse of your own, don't you?”

“Two, yes. One an ex-game pony, and the other used to be at a riding stables my mum's friend owned. Um.. Why?”

“You've fallen?”

She frowned, lips pursing together a little. So, her hunch had been right. It wasn't just a decision to retire from racing. It was only natural, really, but after what happened to his mother.. He was scared. He wasn't not riding the horses here in his spare time out of choice. He was just too worried to.

“A number of times. Not as much as you, I'm sure. W-wait, I mean,” she flustered quickly once more, slapping her palm to her forehead. Way to make it sound like you were insulting him, Marinette, way to bloody go. “Jockeys fall all the time, d-don't they?”

He glanced up to her, hearing his own words echoed back to him, and nodded a little, sitting back as he finished with that hoof. He had fallen a considerable number of times. In fact, they were encouraged to tumble, having to learn how to fall as safely as possible, to instinctively curl up out of the way of any horses that may be behind them, how to know when it was safest to try and stay on and when it was safest to cut your losses and drop to the floor.

“They do. It's just.. How do you do it? When you fall off, how do you get back on?”

She blinked, thinking back then. How did she do it? She remembered as a young child, it had been hard, but children were bouncy and tended not to worry on the concepts of injuries very much. Her teacher had just picked her up, brushed her down, told her that the horse was very sorry and helped her back up. As she got older, though? When the possibility of injuries or worse were very, very much a big deal?

“Normally Alya helps me. She doesn't own any horses herself, you understand, but she still rides a lot. I had a really bad fall last summer – we were on the road and my mare spooked at a car that was speeding past us. She lost her footing and the both of us went into a ditch. Neither of us were hurt, but it terrified me. That long grass can be deceptive, and I found myself terrified of riding anywhere where I couldn't see the floor properly. Alya started to walk with me, just alongside while I was riding, and if it got too scary for me she would clip on a lead rope. It felt a bit embarrassing but just the knowledge that someone was there for me.. It made it easier to deal with, you know?”

At this point he was watching her with unblinking eyes, and she found his expression almost impossible to read. She held her tongue, waiting to see if he was going to ask anything more, but they were interrupted by a beep from his coat pocket. He dug his phone out quickly with one hand and flashed a brief glance over it, sighing.

“I'm really sorry, but I have to go and sort some business stuff out with my father. I hate to be a pain, but would you mind turning him out for me?” He straightened fully, patting Papillon affectionately on the neck, and Marinette nodded with a bright smile, their short conversation pushed to the back of their minds for now.

“Of course! I-I hope everything works out for you, sir!”

“Adrien,” he corrected softly, taking long strides over to the fence as he flashed her a genuine smile over his shoulder. “And thank you, Marinette. Thank you very much.”

 

* * *

 

“Hold on, girl, let me get this straight. You think Adrien is too scared to get back on a horse?”

Alya was sat on the fence down at the back field where Marinette kept her two ponies, watching as her friend cleaned out the water trough of dead flies and half chewed grass. A glamorous job, to be sure, which was why she decided to let the owner of the horses have all the glory.

Marinette nodded, pulling a face as she tried to shake some of the disgusting brown-green gloop off her hands, and flicked her gaze up to her. It had been on her mind since her mini discussion with him, but she hadn't wanted to bring it up at work while they ran the risk of being overheard. Alya was quick to take the hint when Marinette invited her to come and hang around hers after work, and was eager to hear the gossip.

“I really think he is. I think he wants to, but it's been so long, and the more he puts it off the harder it is. I know he didn't fall himself, but seeing that happen to his mother.. It must have been absolutely terrifying. She was an amazing rider, and Mischief never put a foot wrong. It was just a horrific incident, and it could have happened to everyone.”

“It's the risk we run doing what we love,” the redhead nodded, resting her chin in her hands. Tikki and Plagg, Marinette's more recent buy, were off grazing a little further down the fence, and she watched them with a warm gaze for a little. She'd witnessed Marinette get thrown off Tikki once or twice and it was always a heart stopping experience, but fortunately her friend had never experienced anything more severe than a sprain. She herself had only come away with bruises and on one occasion a mild concussion, but neither had broken anything. Touch wood, they never would.

“The thing is, I'm not sure any of the horses back there would be right for him to get on again after so long. He knows Papillon well and they work together, but he's still an ex-racer. He's sensitive, he'd pick up on the adrenaline, and if Adrien's feeling jumpy it could quickly lead to a frightening experience.” From her experience racers were too soft, too quick to respond to commands. It was brilliant for racing, where the slightest shift in posture told them a multitude of commands, but she didn't feel as comfortable on them as she did on her ponies. For one thing, she preferred to have her ankles closer to the ground. Being perched precariously on top of a tiny saddle wasn't her idea of “security”.

“You know who would be perfect for him?” Alya asked, waving a hand at the black pony out in the field. Plagg was a cob, a little too big to be properly classed as a pony really, but they still called him that affectionately. Alya loved cobs more than anything. Wide, sturdy, stubborn as mules. You knew where you stood with cobs, and if you fed them they were your best friend for life. She liked to think of them as the equine version of a Labrador, even if Plagg had a reputation for being more than a bit of an ass. It wasn't that he was lazy, it was just that he was extremely particular about who he would put in effort for.

Still, there wasn't a malicious bone in his body. He was bombproof, he was reliable, and Marinette couldn't help but feel her friend might be on to something there. As a riding school pony he was used to people being nervous, having done it all from being the very first horse some people ever rode to helping those with severe physical disabilities learn to take the reins. He wouldn't be too short for Adrien, either. Not perfect, but not too imperfect either.

“How would I even suggest such a thing to him, though? Hey, Adrien, would you like to come round my house and traipse round my muddy, cheap field to play with my tiny ponies because I think you'd be less terrified on these than on those hundred-thousand euro racers your dad owns, and hey if any of the pap ever saw you on one of these your name would be muddier than my wellies?”

“Don't forget to warn him to look in your tack room under pain of death,” she reminded her, thinking of her friend's numerous posters. Every calender, every advert he had been in, all these photos cut out and lovingly laminated covered the walls from top to bottom, joined only by her collection of ribbons from her younger years competing with Tikki. Marinette groaned loudly and almost made to face-plant the nearest surface on instinct, thankfully reining it in before she came face to face with chilly water that was likely more than partly diluted horse slobber.

“Oh god, Alya, I have _got_ to take all that down before he sees it!”

“Relax, girl,” she laughed brightly, hopping off the fence to pat her friend on the back. “There's no guarantee you're even going to get him round here, is there? I still don't believe that you asked him to ride with us.. Who are you and what did you do with Marinette?”

 

* * *

 

In hindsight, she knew she should never have taken the risk.

Logically speaking, odds on Marinette managing to do something along the lines of “inviting her crush to come round her house” were very, very high, and nobody in their right minds would have even taken the chance.

Herself included.

So it was that she had to ask herself just how it was that she had found herself sat in the passenger seat of his car, directing him down the narrow country lanes to her road, with promises to allow him to meet her two horses, doing her best not to squirm in the knowledge that _all of those pictures of his face were still pinned up inside her tack room_.

Still, in her defense, it had been an unfortunate and unlikely set of events that had built up to this moment she had been waiting for. Her washing machine had broken down in her stable block at home, and there was no way in hell her parents would let her use the one in the house for her numnahs and rugs, so she had managed to wrangle permission off her senior worker at the Agreste Stables to be allowed to run a quick wash during her lunch break.

Then, surprise surprise, her car would not start up at all. It had been on the blink for a week or so, but it just happened to have chosen that day to give out of all days. Her parents' car was in the garage, and while on any other day she would have taken the bus, she was a little too petite to lug two numnahs and two fleece rugs around without really upsetting people who were against the smell of horse (for no matter how much she washed them, the scent was ingrained forever).

To top it all off, Alya had had to leave early for her sister's school play, leaving Marinette stood in the yard and contemplating whether or not she had enough cash on her to cover a taxi, not accounting for any possible traffic jams.

When Adrien's silver Renault pulled up beside her and the window rolled down, she couldn't really believe her luck. Good luck or bad luck she wasn't sure, but when he offered to give her a lift home she saw an opportunity that she would never forgive herself for letting pass her by.

He had readily accepted her offer to come and see Tikki and Plagg, but she wanted to wait to see how he gelled with them before offering a ride. She knew he had his helmet with him, having spotted it in his boot as she loaded the rugs into it, which did make her wonder just how much he still wanted to ride. Why would he keep it handy at all times if he didn't at least partly have the desire to try?

“You really live out in the country here,” he broke into her thoughts, an easy smile on his face as he saw the drive that she had been directing him to. It wasn't an isolated house by any means, but each residence in this area came with their own plot of land to do with as they would. Since her parents were busy running the bakery, they hadn't really been able to argue with Marinette taking up the field to keep her then-horse, now-horses close by. It meant that once she got home from work she didn't have to leave home once more, and allowed her time to see to them before heading off to her morning shifts.

“It's quiet here,” she nodded, pointing out a free space on their gravel drive beside the house that he could use. Both of her parents were at work in the main town for the time being, so they wouldn't have to worry about him being blocked in for some few hours to go. Once he took the key out she opened her door and slipped out, hearing a friendly nicker as Tikki caught sight of them, trotting over to the fence in search for treats. Adrien straightened and turned to them as he shut his door, a wider smile breaking onto his face then.

“So this is Tikki?” he questioned, locking the car before going round to open the boot, taking in the tri-coloured mare as he did so. Her body was fairly evenly split between ginger and white hairs, though there were black stripes in her mane and tail. She was a little dumpy in the way only ponies could be, but in a healthy manner. Her ears pricked forward happily as she watched them unload the rugs, Marinette showing him where they could put them and thanking him for his help in unloading. She could have managed on her own but she did appreciate the effort, even if she did feel guilty that the damp fabric would have seeped into his shirt. She wanted to apologise for the muddy state of the field but he didn't seem to notice, trudging over to the fence and holding a hand out to greet Tikki properly.

Marinette was quickly holding some mints out to him and he thanked her, presenting one to the mare who was quick to snaffle it from his hand, munching on it contently. The girl smiled and glanced up, catching sight of Plagg standing a little further back, studying the newcomer intently. He stood a couple of hands higher than his field mate, and all in black he cut an imposing figure. His feathers, the long fur that grew from the midpoint of his leg down, were matted with mud, and she inwardly lamented the amount of time that it would take to clean them off.

“Does Alya ride him?”

She glanced to Adrien as he spoke, taking a breath before she responded with a slight noise, shaking her head. “The two don't suit each other, really. He's really fussy – a sweetie deep down, but he knows what he wants. He doesn't really like female riders, anyway. He just about works for me, but you can tell it's not his favourite thing. I was going to try and find him a new owner that he would bond with, but he and Tikki get on so well that I couldn't bare to separate them.”

“He looks a lot like the horse I learned to ride on,” he spoke softly, a slight smile on his face as he leaned heavily against the fence. “Chaton was smaller, mind you. Little Shetland, right devil of a thing but I loved him to pieces. He was black all over, too. We used to go out and say goodnight to him and you could never find him in the dark. He was my mother's pony, you see, so it pleased her so much that I got to learn to ride on him too. I outgrew him quickly, but he's always had that special place in my heart.”

“Is he gone now?” She always hated to ask it, but judging by ages, it was unlikely that the little pony was still kicking around. He would have been old when Adrien started learning to ride, so if nothing else he would definitely be retired. She hadn't seen him around the stables either, and she imagined that Adrien would have fought to keep him close as he had done with Papillon. He nodded to her question, a fond smile on his face.

“He went in his sleep, bless the little guy. I couldn't ask for more.”

As they spoke, Plagg had slowly made his way over, head turned to the side as he continued to stare Adrien down. Marinette flicked a discerning eye over the two of them, pleased to see that her internal calculations about their height hadn't been wrong. Adrien shouldn't look too big on him at all.

Seeing Plagg eventually close the distance and sniff at Adrien's hand, she smiled to herself and quickly made her excuses, heading to her tack room. She took her time in there, wanting to give the two males a few moments together. Unless she was very much mistaken, there was an eagerness in Adrien's eyes. The way he talked about his favourite pony, that Plagg had made him think of him, it gave her hope that maybe, just maybe, she could convince him to give it a try. She spent the time in the tack room playing with Plagg's stirrups, adjusting the buckles in an estimate of where she thought Adrien's legs would reach.

Just on the off-chance, she reminded herself. He hadn't said yes yet.

Oh, but surely he would. Plagg just had that charm about him.

When she deemed that she had left it long enough she stepped outside, carrying Tikki's tack in her arms, and settled it on the fence where they had been stood before. Her heart swelled with joy when she noticed that Adrien had climbed into the field, speaking softly to Plagg with his head buried in his thick mane, fingers tangling in the strands. It had gone so much better than she had planned, and he looked like he was one hundred percent hooked. She would have to give Plagg extra treats that evening for this alone.

The man jumped a little upon hearing the heavy leather placed on the top rung of the fence and turned to glance at her, looking a little guilty at having been caught cuddling her horse. She smiled slightly and gestured to the saddle, settling her shoulders back and quelling her nerves. It was now or never, and she had to be strong to ask this. It wasn't for herself, not any more. It was to help a friend overcome his fear.

“I was planning on taking Tikki for a hack around the paths out back. I've got a spare saddle if you've got some free time?”

There it was, an open question for him that he could turn down easily without offending. He was a busy man, it would be perfectly logical for him to decline, no questions asked. If he wasn't up for trying it, it was all right. She had given him the offer, and now the ball was in his park.

She could see him hesitate, eyes flicking nervously to the black gelding stood beside him. His fingers twisted in his mane, weighing up his desire to ride with his worry about getting back on after so long. She knew it must be hard for him, knowing herself what it was like getting on after a scare. The longest she had left it was a week and it had been almost impossible. She couldn't have done it without Alya there to encourage her every step of the way, not at all. To have had two years to let your fears fester was something she couldn't feasibly imagine.

Just when it looked like his indecision was going to topple into a disappointing choice, Plagg turned and head-butted him, hard. Adrien blinked a little in surprise as he was forced to take a step back, the horse sniffing about his pockets for treats, but it seemed to sway something in his mind. He glanced to Marinette with a shaky smile, but a smile nonetheless, and nodded with what he hoped was more conviction than he felt.

“I would be honoured.”

 

They spent a short half hour in amicable company, doing their best to scrub the ponies down into some semblance of decency, before tacking them up in their gear. She dished out clean numnahs to sit under the saddles, Tikki's a bright red while Plagg got a green that just _happened_ to match Adrien's eyes, and once they were done she twisted Tikki's reins and tied them up with her throat lash, not wanting them to slip and for her to get her foot caught in them while she was sorting the boys out.

Adrien clipped the buckle of his helmet up under his chin and took a deep breath, looking Plagg over for a moment, Marinette allowing him a few seconds of silence. She wanted him to be completely sure of himself for this, but also didn't want him to feel embarrassed about his hesitation. He had never explicitly told her his fear, after all, and he might have hoped that she wouldn't have worked it out.

Once he felt ready enough he nodded, gathering the reins up in one hand and holding on to the saddle, Marinette stepping up to him to give him a boost with a leg up. She bent down to grip on to his shin in his bent left leg, feeling him crouch a little on his right ready to jump. On habit they counted down together from three, wanting to time it right, and she could feel him jump the gun a little in nerves. As they got to one he shook his head and stepped back, letting out a shaky breath. His eyes were wet in frustration but she didn't mention it, just smiling warmly to him instead. He seemed so vulnerable, a side she had never seen in him before, and she dreaded to think what it must be like for him to let this show to her.

“I-I'm sorry, Marinette. I.. I can't. I can't do this.”

“Hey, it's ok,” she soothed, reaching up to touch his shoulder lightly. “We don't have to go out for a ride if you don't want to. Still, wouldn't you like to just sit on him, see if you like his size and shape?”

It was a tactic her teacher used to do with her, promise her that a sit on for a few minutes would be enough, and that after that she could get off. Of course once the first tiny hurdle was over, there would be another request, just a “let's try walking”, and after that another, little by little. That was the point of it, though. By breaking it down into small, manageable chunks, it built up the confidence little by little.

He was silent for some time again, before finally nodding. He stepped up once more and they got into position, and once more he backed off. She was patient enough, realising by his tight-mouthed expression that he didn't want to talk about it, and let him overcome it in his own time. Patience was the most important aspect here, and she had more than enough for him.

On his third attempt he pushed through the shakes, settling himself down gently into the saddle, and let out a slow, restrained breath. They were both silent for a few moments but she could see the moment it sank in for him, a sudden, wide grin breaking out on his features as he looked to her. She could see that this was a really big achievement for him, and his happiness was infectious. She laughed lightly as he slipped his feet into the stirrup irons, and she could see his old muscle memory kicking in as he didn't even need to look down at his boots to work out what he was doing.

“I'm sorry if this sounds like a stupid request, but would you mind holding on to me while we walk?”

“Of course!”

He thanked her again, determination in his eyes this time. She hooked her fingers into the bit ring on Plagg's bridle and Adrien nudged him on, making a slightly alarmed sound at the motion. She turned to walk sideways, lightly holding a hand to his ankle as they walked, Tikki deciding to come and walk with them. She stepped behind Marinette, obediently following, and little by little Adrien started to relax. Marinette got him to chat with her, the two of them discussing their learning experiences as children, favourite horses to ride, favourite games to play. She found out that he used to play polo with the children of his father's associates, and she told him how she and Tikki used to be the champions at pony games at their local stables before she bought her herself and moved her closer to her home.

He told her about his first racing experiences, the embarrassment in his first apprentice race where he got really bad cramp all up his calves in the first lap and spent most of the race just trying not to jump off in order to stretch his muscles out. She told him about her mortifying moment in one pony games day where, on the last part of the round where she had to vault onto Tikki's back at a canter, she had neglected to tighten the girth beforehand and saw her world flip as the saddle slipped under her while climbing on.

He didn't notice when she let go of his ankle, nor when she moved her fingers from the bit to the cheek-piece, nor from the cheek-piece to her side. It was only when they completed a lap of the field and she stepped away to grab Tikki that he realised, and he laughed slightly. He looked so much happier and more relaxed than she had ever seen him before, and it warmed her to the core.

She was quick to vault into the saddle and soon Tikki was stood beside Plagg, dancing a little in anticipation of a good walk. There was a small forest at the back of her house that she liked to take them through, little paths that wound through the trees and small rivers that they could wade through. Unless Alya and Plagg put up with each other, she didn't normally get chance for the two to go out together, and she was looking forward to this more than she cared to admit.

“Ready?”

He nodded, a softness to his features as he looked to Marinette with what could only be considered gratitude.

“Ready.”

 

* * *

 

_The wind blew hair from his face as they stood, the black gelding beneath him prancing on the spot, just as excited as his rider to let loose and get going. The stands were empty, no bookies calling out odds, no crowd to cheer for their favourite number. The poles were clear of banners, the gates open and empty._

_He stood at the line, leaning forward to tighten his reins, keeping contact with the mouth of the beast under him. He could feel him chew, tug, ears flicking this way and that._

_**I want to go. Can we go?** _

_He smiled, lightly tugging the reins with just his ring fingers to keep him in check. Patience made the release sweeter, and he could feel the horse's less than impressed response to that as he swung his hind quarters this way and that._

_There was once a time where the sight of the open track brought him nothing but joy, and then equally a time where the very thought sent him into a cold sweat. It had been no easy journey, but as he stood on it for the first time in a long time, he felt content. This was where he belonged, even if he no longer did it professionally. His heart had always been in the race, the rush of adrenaline, the sensation of flying._

_“Are you sure you want to do this?”_

_He glanced to his left to see the person that made it all possible, the person who held just as much power over his beating heart as the thrill of the chase. She had shown him patience and kindness that he had never expected, a tenderness that he hadn't known he had needed. She looked so perfect with her hair in pigtails under her hat, goggles hiding those gorgeous blue eyes from his sight._

_He nodded, seeing her radiant smile light up in response as she crouched low in turn, tightening the reins of her little painted mare._

_He turned his attention back to the track, the grass stretching on as far as the eye could see, and he tuned out the world around him as she counted down, three, two, one-_

_Their horses exploded off their starting line, the two old friends racing each other stride for stride. They were herd animals at heart, and they never ran alone._ _He stood up from the saddle to smooth out the ride for him and his steed, body taking comfort in the familiar position, stretching his arms out and down his neck as each stride grew longer, longer, the two horses galloping in time. He could imagine the dirt being kicked up behind them, could hear the heavy breathing as the two pushed themselves in a rare chance to just run like the wind._

_It really did feel like flying, he had to admit, the way their bodies moved as one being, soaring over the earth. He heard the other rider let out a whoop of joy as they covered more and more ground, and he started to pull his horse up a little, just enough, feeling that rebellious tug in a request to be allowed to go faster._

_They slowed enough to make the turn easily, one more stretch opening up in front of them, and he turned to glance at the girl beside him. She flashed him a wicked grin and nudged her heels in, crouching low against the saddle as the mare took off once more. Not one to be outdone his gelding soon made chase, the two pushing themselves even more as they urged each other on, their competitive spirit fuelled by their camaraderie._

_All too soon they passed the line and a low “whoooah” left his mouth, sitting back a little as he asked for him to slow once more. It took a quarter of a lap for the two animals to fall back into a walk and he grinned, pushing his goggles down to rest around his neck before loosening the reins, letting his gelding stretch into a long walk. Their muscles needed a good cool down after that, but he was euphoric, ecstatic to have finally found that sensation he had been searching for for some time._

_He felt a nudge against his leg as the mare fell in to step beside him, keeping close to her friend, and glanced over to see his own companion lower her goggles as well, unable to keep the grin off her face. She leaned across from her saddle to rest a hand on his thigh and squeezed, looking into his eyes hopefully._

_“Was it as good as you remembered?” she asked, gaze locking on his own, searching for some confirmation. He shook his head, noting the way her mouth drooped slightly in the corners, before in one bold move he leaned across and locked his fingers into her shirt, precariously balanced as he stole her lips in a short, breathy kiss._

_“No,” he reiterated, pulling back and sitting up properly before one of them toppled from the side of their saddle in some ungainly display, his eyes warm and dancing as he saw his expression and relief reflected in her own. “It was so much better.”_

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone who has never had the joy of galloping a horse, the closest sensation that I have found is that of an airplane taking off. That sudden kick of speed is absolutely euphoric, though I have only had the fortune of racing horses on a beach and never on a track.
> 
> I would also like to mention that Plagg's personality is an homage to my horse that I lost almost two years ago. Mine in that we bonded at the stables where I worked - my boss and all the staff said he was mine, and he was my world. I trusted him with my life, and he was a little devil. He worked very well with disabled children, but if he knew you could ride he would buck and bronc and mess about. Whenever I sat on him we spent most of the lesson with him squealing in excitement and on one ride out we had to go the whole way backwards, because the second he turned the right way he was bolting off with the desire to stretch his legs. 
> 
> Also just to clarify, these are sort of how I picture the varying horses (loosely, more for shape and build than exact patterning but I'm sure you catch my drift!):  
> Mischief - https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/5a/60/80/5a60809365ce05d4f8a065eed29e4bc4.jpg  
> Papillon - http://www.brackenspastud.co.uk/images/horses/athens-abercadabra.jpg  
> Tikki - http://www.cloud9walkers.com/Tex062305a.jpg  
> Plagg - http://www.horsepurchase.co.uk/media/cache/horse-classified/811_4_full.jpg


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